


Sparks Fly

by BabysNotaProp (SuzetteB)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Destiel Harlequin Challenge, Family Drama, Family Issues, Fluff and Smut, Fourth of July, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Panic, Harlequin, M/M, Mild public nudity, Past Anna Milton/Dean Winchester, Rich Castiel (Supernatural), Schmoop, Sex sans lube, Top Dean Winchester, Unprotected Sex, Working Class Dean Winchester, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuzetteB/pseuds/BabysNotaProp
Summary: Dean’s world turns upside down when an old crush from high school walks into his life once more. The problem? The Winchesters and Miltons want an heir produced from their families union, to ensure the continuation of the factory legacy. Living with Anna was supposed to solve that.The other problem? Castiel is Anna’s brother.





	Sparks Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2019! It's my first time doing a bang, and I chose a mini one, which is over 5k but under 15k. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> A couple of things:   
> \- Unprotected sex ahead. Wrap it before you tap it ;)  
> \- Mentioned Anna/Dean, nothing detailed.  
> \- Yes, anal sex sans lube can happen. Cas can handle it.
> 
> I've never written anything remotely close to "schmoopy" or "schmaltzy"; in fact I've never even read a romance novel, so if I failed miserably, well... I don't know what to tell you. Oh well, I guess xD

Drunk shopping. Put that on the list of things Dean should never, ever do again.

It’s late. How late, he might have lost track somewhere between his seventh shot and fourth beer. He’s fairly certain he walked, not driven, all the way from the bar to the 24-hour drugstore with the brilliant idea of stocking up on rubbers and now he’s in aisle seven, tearing open condom boxes and trying them on.

How else is he supposed to know they fit right? Have just the right about of lube? Ribbing? Thickness? Durability? He can’t be catching anything Ajax can’t wash off. What if his partner likes thin ones? Pink ones? _ ...Glow in the dark ones? _

Oh shit. What if  _ he’s _ the partner?

What does Dean like? Huh. Now there’s a deep, philosophical question he’s never bothered to ask himself up to this very, very smashed point. What  _ does  _ he like, anyway? Does he enjoy feeling the ghost of his man’s cock through ultra thin material? Yes. Does he like the warm sensation of this particularly expensive brand’s built-in enhancing gel? Also, yes.

Does Dean like the idea of that cock rearranging his colon belonging to  _ his girlfriend’s brother,  _ who just rolled into Small Town, USA to make an appearance for the annual family Independence Day barbecue?

_ Yes. _

He rips open another foil wrapper, fumbles with the condom for a moment, and gently tugs it down his exposed dick. Dozens of boxes, wrappers, and rubbers cover the impersonal tile floor within a five foot radius. Dean looks down at his half mast and remembers those eyes, so blue it doesn’t make any sense. Tears fill his eyes. 

He sniffs.  _ Your girlfriend’s brother,  _ he scolds himself.  _ For freakin’ real? You haven’t seen the guy since high school. _

Dean feels a tear roll down his cheek. He might also be drooling. Or maybe that’s another tear. A long, sticky one. He’s still too drunk to tell.

_ Dammit you ol’ sap, why are you like this? _

“Sir.”

“Fu’coff,” he slurs to the unwelcome voice of a sales associate. He swats his hand and hits… something. There’s a shattering sound. Was that glass?

“Sir, you’ve been asked to leave.”

With a single unamused grunt, Dean turns toward what he’s pretty sure is the front door and shuffles, jeans to his knees and dick still out, all the way down the aisle. He takes off the condom and tosses it onto a display of sparklers. Goddamn cock socks weren’t even that great anyway. He should call the customer service number. It’s 2019, it’s time to up the contraception game.

He reaches the door. He pushes it. An alarm sounds.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Glancing down, he notices, for the first time since he walked in, that he’s completely exposed, and fixes that before heading in the opposite direction. Associates and customers are running frantically. It’s all very exaggerated. People and their fire alarms, sheesh. 

By the time he reaches the actual exit, the store has all but emptied. Most of the customers have gone outside, just to be safe, but an associate or two have lingered behind and one of them is pointing at him while talking to a cop. The officer nods and makes his way to Dean, who grumbles at the loud order being barked at him.

“Sir, you been drinking?”

“Nuh uh,” he denies languidly. “T’s not what you think, ossifer.”

“The store manager says you’ve been causing a disturbance, setting off the alarm, plus destruction of property, public intoxication and indecency.”

“If y’got it, flaunt it!”

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back, sir. I'd like to say you're simply being detained, but it’s not looking good. I don’t like jumping to conclusions, but you’re most likely spending the night in a cell.”

“Are the inmates cute as you?”

Too absorbed in his clever, totally sober-sounding replies, Dean is hauled away by his arm, when someone familiar walks through the automatic sliding door. It’s a pair of blue eyes and ridiculously sexy dark hair… the same sight that ruined his life just by walking back into it.

Castiel Novak is walking into the drugstore. Holy hell, naw.

_ Fucking hell, Cas, I thought I had quit you. _

Dean looks down as the cop leads him on. They’ve almost passed him. It’s almost over. There’s no way Cas saw him. People don’t see what they aren’t looking for. It’s happening too fast. Dean is almost to safety. He won’t have to face the object of his drunkenness in such an embarrassing state.

Dean glances up. He can’t help it. Why did he do that? 

Cas is looking directly into his eyeballs.

_ Fuck. _

“Dean?”

* * *

Ogling and getting hard to male pin-ups should’ve been a clue. Kissing his friend at a sleepover and being into it should’ve been a clue. Never being interested in girls until high school peers made it look normal should’ve been a clue. 

Staring at other guy’s asses should have been a fucking clue. 

By heteronormativity is one hell of a drug. 

Castiel Milton was the one that got away. Dean spent his entire senior year pining after him, never gathering enough gall to take the first step. As far as his graduating class was concerned, Dean was Mr. Hetero Ladies’ Man, thank you very much. But even then, despite everything within and without telling him how straight he was, Dean knew.

He’s known for a while now.

“Honey,” Anna says, startling him awake on the couch.

His head hurts. No,  _ throbs  _ with pain. He can smell himself, and it ain’t roses and beach breeze. There’s a crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch funny, and he feels fucking disgusting, like he’s gone a month without changing clothes.

He should be happy to see his longsuffering girlfriend, but instead, he just feels more ashamed.

Because she’s probably the reason he’s lying here instead of a jail cell? Because he should feel butterflies and hearts and tingles down south when he looks at her her, but he doesn’t? Because he never has?

Because he’s still “giving her a chance” for the sake of his overly concerned mother, who is approaching her sixties with no grandkids?

Sure, he and Anna have had sex… once. It was experimental, more than anything else. He didn’t hate it, but she hasn’t brought it up since. Trying to squeeze into a nuclear family mold is weird when the domestic arrangement is basically planned out from the get-go to get the Winchesters in good with the Miltons. 

“Hmph,” Dean grumbles, squinting against the blinding morning sun and ringing in his ear. Anna’s hand is on his cheek and it’s a nice thought but her skin is so hot, it’s unpleasant.

“Bailed you out,” she says quietly, with a small smile.

She’s a sweetheart, that much is certain. The Miltons are well-known for their impeccable pedigree of class and good genes. They also own most of the factories within a hundred mile radius, and the Winchesters are a long line of faithful employees who have slowly climbed the ranks and are looking at co-ownership within the next couple of generations. All they need is a good match.

Now here he is, hungover on his girlfriend’s couch after spiraling out of control over her brother and his perfect face.

“Thanks,” Dean manages to say with a grimace. 

“Water?”

“Mmm hmm.”

It’s not that Anna’s a spiteful, nagging, ugly bitch. Anna is none of those things. She’s a nice girl. Just… not the nice girl for him. Dean knows it, and he’s fairly certain she knows it, but both sets of parents have their eyes glued to them like a couple of dog breeders waiting for them to make babies. The whole situation is awkward, and there are zero good opportunities to bring up the fact that this arrangement just isn’t going to work.

He takes four gulps from the glass of water before Anna speaks again.

“My brother just got back into town yesterday.”

It’s all Dean can do to keep from choking on the fifth sip of water.

“He’s gonna stay here.”

Dean’s throat closes up mid-swallow. Slowly his eyes drag to Anna, who is absentmindedly scraping nail polish off her thumb. How is she so damn nonchalant about this? Forcing the water down, Dean sets the glass on the coffee table and clears his throat.

“Okay,” he acknowledges deeper than necessary, just in case his voice cracks like a fucking teenager.

“I don’t think you two have formally met. His name is Castiel, but most people call him —”   


“Cas,” Dean finishes, and then silently curses himself.

“Oh, silly me. I must’ve mentioned him already.”

_ Sure, let’s go with that. _

Truthfully, she hadn't. Anna doesn’t talk much… about anything. Generally, they keep to themselves, both busy with work and hobbies, both giving cohabitation a try more for the sake of their parents more than any mutual interest. It’s been a year, and there’s little to no sexual attraction, no deep-rooted love, and no baby on the way.

For two people with no chemistry, they get along decently. They stay out of each other's way and try to stay quiet getting ready for work if one is still sleeping. There’s really no reason for Anna to peg Dean’s knowledge of Cas on herself, but he appreciates it anyway, as the real reason is a conversation he is not ready to have.

“The barbecue is tonight.” It is simultaneously a gentle reminder and gracious change of subject.

His head isn’t throbbing as horribly, so he pushes himself to a seated position, groaning every inch of the way. Once up, he closes his eyes to center himself and rubs his eyelids. Blinking away the blurry vision, he lets out a cleansing huff of air and focuses on Anna and this pretentious family event mere hours away.

“When should I fire up the grill?”

“Wait until everybody gets here. Cas is late for everything and I don’t wanna start without him.”

Dean says nothing in response, but can’t get the fantasy out of his head: Cas is late, all right, but only because he’s fucking Dean senseless in the tiny half bathroom adjacent to the back porch, mere feet away from Anna and her ridiculously prim and proper family. There’s a tie stuffed in Dean’s mouth — the same one he saw on Cas when he got arrested in the drug store — the same one Cas was wearing the first time their eyes met in nearly twenty years. It’s the only thing keeping Dean quiet enough to not be heard above the polite conversation going on just beyond a thin bathroom window and vinyl siding.

Tearing his attention away from his own imagination, Dean glances down to see his pants mercifully covered by the throw blanket Anna keeps on the couch. Since when did a five second self-insert get him this aroused? Has it really been that long? Damn, it really has. And if he wants to be able to focus on anything leading up to the barbecue, he needs to clean out the pipes.

Anna is already on food prep duty, which is supposed to be Dean’s job, but he takes the break with a grateful heart and pulls himself to his feet. His clothes still feel disgusting, and his breath smells like something died on his tongue. He stumbles upstairs to brush his teeth, wash himself, and jerk off to thoughts of his girlfriend’s gorgeous blue-eyed brother screwing him against a bathroom door. And he gives zero fucks about how messed up that is.

* * *

Castiel is not late. Turns out, his family is just freakishly early. Naomi and Chuck turn up at 4:30pm, but Dean doesn’t hear them knocking at the door until 4:32, after he turns off the vacuum cleaner. Naomi is thoroughly unimpressed with the state of the place, even though dinner wasn’t scheduled until 6. At this point, he’s just glad his side of the family decided to forego dinner and just meet them at the fairgrounds for fireworks. 

At 5:30 Anna gets a text from her brother saying he’s almost there. Dean’s heart is hammering in his chest as he pours charcoal on the grill with unsteady hands. He throws a match down. The tiny flame dies out.

“You forgot the lighter fluid there, Dean,” Chuck reminds him amusedly.

Heat rushing to his cheeks, Dean laughs it off and squirts a healthy dose onto the dry charcoal. Here they fucking go, watching him like they watch every other fucking move he makes. The psycho probably has hidden cameras in every room, booing at every night that passes by without he and Anna having intercourse. Freaks.

The next match Dean tosses onto the grill ignites with a poof. Engulfed in flames, the small black briquettes begin their long roast. He doesn’t turn to face Chuck again, lest his face beray him. He’s thinking very intently about how much he’d like to burn Naomi and Chuck’s burgers, just to spite them and every apple pie ideal with which they think they’re enriching Dean’s life. It’s very tempting to chuckle at the thought of their patties being nothing but ashes between two pieces of bread, but this wish must be made in stealth, and so he simply lets a puff of air through his nose and cracks a half smile to himself.

He’s halfway through a fantasy of Naomi eating her ash burger when a voice brings him back to the present. Oh, that voice. He knows that voice. And it’s getting closer.

_ Be cool, be cool, be cool… _

“Dean, honey!”

Pausing from poking at the still-dark briquettes with steel tongs, Dean takes a deep breath and slowly turns to face his girlfriend and the man he knows is alongside her. This is it.  _ Oh god.  _ Did he brush his teeth? Is there grill debris in his hair? Did he pick his eye boogers out? Is his fly zipped?

All breath leaves his body as he finishes his stationary rotation. Cas is even more beautiful to sober Dean than to drunk Dean, which is a stupid first thing to think, but here he is, making a total and complete fool of himself. He stands there with his mouth open, bottom lip moving up and down as he studies Cas’ features while looking for something to say.

Cas’ hair could pass for black, but the sun reflects on a few wild chunks well enough to make it an obvious deep, dark brown. His jawline is sharp and dark with day-old scruff, which gets a subconscious twitch out of Dean’s downstairs brain. Cas’ eyes are another thing entirely. They’re just as blue as they’ve always been, and yet they’re even more incredible up close.

“Cas, this is my boyfriend, Dean,” Anna introduces, and according to the book of etiquette to which the Miltons so religiously adhere, the mention of Cas’ name first indicates that he was born before Dean.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

The age difference can’t be over a year, but sue him, Dean has always liked older men. Besides that, Castiel wears going-on-forty exceptionally well, which isn’t surprising, given the family’s gene pool. In Dean’s opinion, men get better with age anyway, and not just on account of looks. In the wise words of Robert Plant, older guys aren’t as sensitive in “certain areas,” making a good time last longer, making it an even  _ better  _ time.

“And Dean, this is my brother, Castiel,” she concludes the introduction while motioning from Dean back to her brother.

Dean extends his hand to Cas, and panics. His nervous smile falls. Cas saw him last night. Drunk. Arrested by the local fuzz. Probably a condom stuck to his shoe. 

Oh, this is bad. This is very,  _ very  _ bad.

“Hello Dean,” Cas greets him, and if the sun wasn’t still high in the sky, his smile would’ve lit up the whole damn east coast. It’s not even a big one; just a tug at the corners of his mouth that reveals his teeth when he speaks, but holy moly, Dean is in deep.

“Hey Cas,” he responds too quickly, shaking hands and praying to every deity he can name that Cas doesn’t feel the sticky sweat on his palm. 

Maybe Cas forgot. It all happened so fast: the trip to the drugstore, stumbling to the front counter, seeing each other in passing. But no, Cas had said his name. Dean doesn’t remember much from that night, but the sound of his name on Cas’ lips… that is a sound he will never forget. He couldn’t dare entertain the idea of Cas forgetting a scene like that. Plus, there’s a certain, sad glint in those deep blue eyes that suggests far more to say than has thus far been said.

“I’ll be back once the grill is ready,” she says with a light touch on Dean’s arm. It’s barely there but jarring, like a dream about falling from which one awakens in a cold sweat. “I’m going to finish up on the fruit salad. Just need to cut the bananas.”

Dean is left with the shadow of her touch as she disappears into the house and leaves him alone with Castiel Milton. Naomi and Chuck are already inside, probably hounding Anna about the status of her uterus. He picks up the tongs again, clicking them twice before shuffling the whitening charcoal around the grill. The man of his dreams is standing two feet away and he has no idea how to proceed from here.

Sweet-talking girls was always his forte. Give him a pretty lady and he could play her like Jimmy Page’s double neck guitar. He could butter them up until they were climbing him like the Stairway to Heaven. He wasn’t a man whore per se; he just really fucking loved women. He got his wild stage over with years before Anna, when he went to the doctor scared to death over an itch on his nether regions. Turns out, it was actually poison oak from his and some hippie chick’s mushroom-laden night in the woods.

That was the end of his hoe phase. He was planning on settling down, he really was. Maybe not with Anna, but with some nice girl who tolerated his taste in music and made him feel appreciated.

Now this fucker had to walk back into his life and ruin everything.

“I see you got out of the slammer,” Cas speaks up for the first time since their introduction.

Dean sets down the tongs and looks down to hide his smile. The slammer. Who even says that anymore? Maybe high school is never too far away after all. The dude was kinda nerdy back then, too.

“Yeah, sorry you had to see that. I was a wreck last night.” 

Cas blinks once, the rest of his face struggling to stay stoic except that  _ thing  _ his eyes were doing — the thing that made it look like millions of thoughts and emotions behind a levee that’s about to break. He nods. “So was I.”

He can’t help the curious squint or the way his lips poise for a question. He might have been positively tanked not twenty four hours ago, but he’s fairly certain Cas was the one with his shit together when their worlds collided after half a lifetime of radio silence between them.

“What?” Dean finally asks.

“Yesterday afternoon, in the grocery store,” Cas clarifies.

_ As if  _ Dean has already forgotten the exact place and time. Aisle 8. By the paper towels. An obscure Simon & Garfunkel song playing in the background. That’s the moment time stopped: when he turned around with a roll of Bounty to see Cas on the other side, eyeing the Kleenex multi packs.

Like a lovestruck idiot, he had dropped the paper towels, and the soft  _ thump  _ made enough noise to turn Cas’ head. The look they gave each other was like two storms colliding. Electrifying and breathless and hair-raising, like the split-second before lightning strikes. The moment dragged on as a continuation of every unspoken confession, paused on graduation day and picked right up again.

Dean had swallowed, picking a variation of “hello”, but was interrupted by a tidal wave of hurried grocery shoppers, each pushing past him with their squeaky shopping cart and grabbing hands. He pushed his way out of the swarm only to look across the aisle at an empty tissue section. 

Once again, Cas had gotten away.

  
But now he’s in Dean’s backyard and he’s talking like he’s got some deep, dark secret after all these years. Whatever this guy is getting at, it can’t be what Dean is hoping. Life doesn’t work that way. You can’t just pine after a dude and end up with his sister, only for things to eventually work out at the end.

“I didn’t even say hello,” Cas continues. “That was… rude of me. I apologize.”

_ Ah, so that’s what this is.  _ Dean blinks away the disappointment.  _ Of course that’s what it is! What did you think this was, a love confession? _

But wait, there has to be more. Cas said the work  _ wreck.  _ “Everything alright now?”

Cas is silent for a moment. Just long enough to approach the grill and stare down at the ashy charcoal. His clothes are going to smell like smoke now. “How is Anna?”

For a split second, Dean freezes. Cas could have asked Anna how she’s doing. He probably already has. Dean goes through the very long list of ways he can treat Anna well, and checks it twice. He makes her as happy as can be expected, considering the circumstances. She does the same for him. It’s a difficult situation, but they do their best.

“She’s fine.” Dean forces a smile. “We’re fine.”

One of Cas’ brows shoots up, and Dean swears up and down on his beautiful classic car, he sees the way Cas picks up on the forced smile. It’s equally eerie and relieving to  _ just know _ someone isn’t buying his bullshit. How he’s doing it is beyond Dean, but one thing is for sure: he’s inclined to tell the truth to the next question that flies out of Cas’ mouth.

A distant  _ click  _ announces the porch door being closed, and Dean looks up to see Anna carrying a plate of raw burger patties. She’s wearing the same fake smile he was just a moment before, and it wipes any semblance of amusement from her brother’s face. In an instant, with minimal words, Cas has figured out the facade of their perfect suburban life.

“Thanks,” Dean says as she hands him the plate and makes her way back inside. Her wordless interaction tells him just how bad she’s got it inside. Naomi and Chuck are not letting her off easily, and she’s probably staying quiet so she can hold it together long enough to make it back inside without screaming.

He feels bad for her. Not her fault both sets of parents want grandkids more than suitable spouses for their children. If they ever find out Anna is more interested in adopting a cat than sex and Dean is hot for the brother, oh man… that’s going to be laughable.

“So,” he rambles as he plops each patty on the grill. “How about you? Y’got a lady friend?”

The burgers sizzle as the cold meat touches hot iron. Cas sniffs out a closed-mouth laugh. “No, not really high on my list of priorities, in fact.”

Dean digs deep into his memory archives at the potentially ambiguous statement. It’s likely canned at the ready for anyone asking, much like he and Anna’s “No, not yet” speech when people ask the baby question. And yet, he’s sure there’s more to it. Was Cas with anyone during high school? He would hang out with guys and girls, but as far as dating went…

Wait, there was that Mick guy that one prom…

“There’s a lot of fish in the sea,” Dean shrugged, chancing a glance in Cas’ direction while throwing down the last patty. “Nobody out there strike your fancy?”

“Any women, you mean?”

“No,” Dean replies, a little too quickly. He swallows, focusing very intently on the flames under the burgers. “Just… anybody.” Not brave enough to meet Cas’ piercing gaze, he keeps poking at the same patty, watching the red juice slowly turn clear over the hot charcoal.

Cas steps away from the grill, out of Dean’s line of sight but still near enough for Dean to smell his unique scent above the smoky beef. “There is someone,” he confesses. “But I’m afraid I’m too late.”

Dean sets his jaw, not allowing his mind to go where he so desperately wishes. “Why is that?”

“Like I said, I was a wreck last night.”

“I said that.”

Cas steps back into view. “What?”

“I said I was a wreck last night.”

“And I said ‘So was I.’”

Dean blinks. His arm grows shaky, so he begins prematurely flipping the burgers, each landing with a splat several inches off from its original resting place. They’re going to stick, Dean realizes, and wishes too late he was more careful. These are going to be a mess. 

“Okay.”

Cas narrows his eyes at Dean, who is still stubbornly refusing to make eye contact. “‘Okay’?”

“What do you want to do, Cas? Sing Kumbaya? Write a Dear Annie? Tell your parents to quit hounding us about an heir to their factory throne?”

Taken aback by his own brashness, Dean sets down the tongs and grips the wooden sides of the grill. His rant is abrupt and uncalled for, and he immediately regrets it. This word vomit has been a year in the making and Cas did not deserve to be the one to get hurled on.

Strangely, there’s a peace following; something therapeutic about giving voice to the words haunting his mind for so long. Dean can count on one hand how many times he’s opened up about what he’s  _ really  _ thinking, but interestingly, it’s always been around people he barely knows. Maybe there’s safety in that. Maybe his secrets are better off with strangers.

Only, Cas is not enough of a stranger. He’s his girlfriend’s brother. And how his business is out there, with the ball in Cas’ court. He is at the mercy of a future brother-in-law he barely knows, with his family’s future on the line.

It’s a sucky idea, but deep within his subconscious, he’s hoping Cas is catching what he's throwing.

“After the grocery store, I had a few drinks,” Cas offers up after the silence grows past congenial and begins bordering on awkward.

“Okay?”

“I don’t drink.”

A smirk crawls across Dean’s cheek. “You a lightweight, huh?”

“Yes,” Cas admits ruefully. His voice is so deep and dark and entrancing, like thick volcano smoke preceding an eruption. His few words thus far are mere glances, a barrage holding back a torrent of unknown contemplations.

Dean knows what he wants Cas to be thinking and feeling, but he can’t let himself go there.

“Then I went to the drugstore to get sparklers, and that’s where I saw…”

Unable to stop himself, Dean bites the inside of his cheek and turns to face Cas full-on. He’s sure Cas would have eventually finished his lazy fade-out sentence, maybe, but the empty silence between them with only last night’s memory to fill the void makes things far too real.

“Where you saw more of me than you probably ever wanted to.”

Cas exhales sharply through his nose at that, but neither confirms nor denies. He makes eye contact with Dean with a small half smile and it’s the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen. Eyes so blue he could drown, so mysterious he could stare forever to learn their secrets.

Just this momentary connection feels more authentic than the entirety of Dean and Anna’s relationship, if one can call it that. More like a science experiment between two families.

It’s hilarious, and scary, and maddening, and very, very sad. But now is not the time to dwell on complexities such as this.

Mood lightened, Cas clears his throat and glances at the smoking grill. “Burgers,” is all he says, with a slight head tilt, and it flings Dean’s attention back to his task at hand: unevenly cooked, charred-on-one-side patties, in just as much of disarray as Dean is on the inside.

Scraping each one off the grill, Dean arranges them on a clean plate Anna had prepared by the grillside ahead of time. With a deep breath, he prepares himself for the clusterfuck of a conversation mere minutes and a meal prayer away. They head to the backdoor together, and Cas opens it with a sympathetic glance that bounces from Dean to Anna.

* * *

“It’s not just about the family business, darling,” Naomi admonishes with a pointed plastic fork. Anna is across the table and not enjoying dinner one bit. “One day when you’re old you’ll regret not passing down your bloodline.”

Dean can’t help but look to his side and see Anna’s half-eaten burger. It’s burnt and flavorless, but that’s not why she isn’t eating. Naomi’s tone is sharp and patronizing — enough to make anyone lose their appetite. Across from him is Castiel, who is already done with his meal, except for a few grapes he keeps poking holes in with his fork as he listens to his mother and sister bicker.

“Mrs. Milton, all due respect,” Dean begins diplomatically, “but we’ve been giving this thing a go for a solid year.”

“Trying for a baby, you mean?” Naomi blurts out.

To her other side, Chuck chokes on a bite of pasta salad at the blunt inquiry regarding Anna and Dean’s private life.

“Uh, I mean,” Dean stammers, himself shocked at the question that is essentially asking the entire family if they’re having unprotected intercourse. “It’s… it’s really kind of, uh…”

“It’s a perfectly normal question, dear. Have you two been trying to conceive or not?”

With a blink, Anna’s eyes are red with tears. “Stop! Just stop it, Mom!”

“Is that a no?” she pries, stabbing a slice of cantaloupe with her fork and lifting it to her mouth.

“I think we’re misunderstanding each other.” Dean huffs a mirthless laugh. “By ‘giving this thing a go,’ what I meant is our uh, our… domestic partnership.” He finishes the sentence with a flourish of his hand, hoping that will make it sound all fancy.

Naomi’s shoulders sag, but her stiff composure otherwise does not falter. She is glaring at Dean with a fire in her eyes. “Domestic partnership? Is that all this is to you?”

“No,” Dean rushes, hand now clammy and gripping his paper napkin. “We’re doing this for our families. At least, we’re giving it our best shot. We want what’s best for all of us, of course. I think the world of you guys, and Anna is the best woman I know. It’s just…”

Before he can stop himself, Dean looks over at Cas, just for a split second, as if looking for validation, or assistance, or a flashcard with the next thing to say. This is not an easy conversation to have, to Mr. and Mrs. Milton most of all. He can’t ask Anna to stand in the gap; she’s already been through enough; maybe Cas has something smart to say in that pretty head of his.

Cas senses Dean’s unease and looks up just as Dean’s eyes dart back to Naomi.

“Mother,” Cas begins formally, setting down his fork. “Has it occurred to you that this arrangement might not be in Anna’s best interest?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Castiel. Dean’s family have been faithful factory workers for generations. It only makes sense that —”   


“No, mother. I don’t mean for the good of the company. I mean what makes Anna happy. Have you given any thought to that at all?”

Naomi opens her mouth wide to speak, but then closes it, retracting into her seat. Chuck is wiping his mouth on a napkin once his last bite is down, ready to give ear to his son. Cheeks pink with rage, Anna sits back in her chair with the hint of relief that someone else has become the center of attention.

“While I will not deny that a business kinship between the Miltons and Winchesters is a good match,” Cas continues, “there’s no point in continuing… this. Whatever ‘this’ is.”

Fidgeting with his napkin, Dean swallows a bland bite of pasta salad and braces himself for the rest. The table is quiet enough to hear a pin drop in the wake of Castiel’s ballsy statement. Whatever happens next, Dean is just glad someone else is taking this difficult conversation out of his hands. It’s been a while since he didn’t have to be the one making decisions, taking the brunt of responsibility.

It’s calming. Just a bit sexy, too.

“They’ve had an entire year to acclimate to each other, to let chemistry fester. Do you see any of that between them, mother? Anything to suggest they’ve fallen head over heels for each other?”

“Don’t be like that, Castiel. These things take time —”

“One year!” Cas interrupts. “One. Solid. Year. And when they think no one is looking they look so miserable you’d think someone ran over their dog.”

Chuck blinks twice. “You guys have a dog?”

“No,” comes the aggravated answer in unison from Anna, Dean, and Castiel.

“They’re doing this for you. They’ve been doing it long enough. We need to figure out something else. No point in joining the Winchesters to the Miltons if it’s doomed for failure.”

Chuck and Naomi don’t know what to say to that, so they look down at their respective plates and contemplate Cas’ proposition. Everyone else at the table knows Anna and Dean’s enjoyment is only second place in their minds, but it’s positively useless to attempt at appealing to their consciences at this point. 

Appealing to their pride it is, then.

“There’s only so long they can go before burning out. By then, the company would be devastated by a split. A child would only complicate the process.”

Right now, Cas reasoning with his parents is the most beautiful sound Dean has ever heard. It’s cold water on a hot day, the voice of help on the way after losing hope in utter silence. He’s also getting inappropriately aroused, just knowing there’s a knight in shining armor making his best effort. It might be mostly on behalf of Anna, but that’s fine. Cas is her brother after all.

“Are you going to force this domestic partnership to continue,” Cas finishes, “or are you going to risk an even bigger mess down the road? We can figure out another way. Our family has always found a way to make our company survive. We’ll do it again. Let them go.”

The tension in the room is palpable at this point, but instead of an explosion, the strain between each family member slowly slackens, like a rubber band taken off its tension. Chuck and Naomi glance at each other neutrally before facing the rest of the table. Dean throws a grateful look Cas’ way before they speak, so no matter the outcome, he knows his interference is appreciated.

“You bring up a good point,” Chuck pipes up with a nod towards Castiel. “Perhaps a year was long enough to test their compatibility. Don’t you think so, dear?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Naomi sighs heavily, thin-lipped and obviously irritated. “And I was certain this generation could make the perfect union between our families.”

“There are other ways,” Anna speaks up. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the night, okay mom?”

With a curt nod, Naomi drops the subject and begins stacking dirty paper plates to throw away. “Let’s get this place cleaned up so we can meet the Winchesters for fireworks. Don’t want to be late.”

* * *

The general awkwardness has long since lifted since the two families met at the fairgrounds. They’re a few out of hundreds, thousands perhaps, all determined to get the best seats possible. As more people pour in, they’re squished closer, surrounded on all sides by lawn chairs, festival blankets, and the mixed smell of bug spray and sparkler smoke.

Practically on top of each other, the parents engage in business talk while their adult children make small talk about Castiel’s trip from out of town. Being in his mid thirties, Sam is the youngest one there, which holds no weight once everyone else in the group is already forty or quickly approaching. At that point, the only divider between ages is how quickly they can catch up on the latest memes.

“How long is this bug spray supposed to last?” Sam asks, swatting at a mosquito hovering inquisitively around his head.

“Four to six hours,” Anna reads from the bottle.

“You didn’t put any on your neck, silly goose,” Jess points out, moving his hair out of the way. She takes the bottle out of Anna’s outstretched hand and sprays down the spots Sam missed.

A small child runs past them, laughing and waving a sparkler. Cas’ eyes widen marginally, a barely visible indication of realization. Dean is the only person who notices, because of course he’s hyper-aware of any move Castiel Milton makes. He has been ever since the handsome devil arrived into town.

“I left the sparklers in the truck.” Castiel stands up and brushes off a few stray pieces of grass. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean shoots up, fast enough for his vision to spot out for a second, but quickly regains his balance. He’s going with Cas. Of course he is. It’s crowded in their little huddle, and he could use some fresher air. Plus, he’s kind of cramped sitting cross-legged on nothing thicker than a towel with patches of grass underneath.

“Want some company?” he sputters when Cas looks at him curiously. It’s awkward as hell, not to mention unnecessary for two people, but he’s already said it, and no one else in their company seems to think much of it. In fact, everyone else is still engrossed in their own conversations, without as much of a raised brow at Dean’s suggestion.

Cas’ face relaxes, and Dean watches his throat ripple as he swallows. When Cas nods, Dean remembers himself and looks back up to those cerulean eyes with an elated half smirk. He shouldn’t be this excited about going to the parking lot with Cas; it makes no sense, and yet here he is. 

Deep within his psyche, he wants to believe Castiel will make a move on him now that he’s technically single. That’s kind of fucked up though, isn’t it? To want your ex-girlfriend’s brother to come onto you an hour after breaking up? To be a good-for-nothing homewrecker?

He doesn’t remember much of the walk to the truck. While Dean drove himself and Anna in his classic Chevy Impala, Castiel drove Chuck and Naomi in a light brown and cream F-250, probably from the late eighties. Not at all what Dean expected a man like him to drive, but whatever. Castiel had already surprised him by way of standing in the gap at dinner time to plead Dean and Anna’s case, for which Dean was forever grateful, so it shouldn’t come as a shock that Anna’s brother is much more than meets the eye.

By the time Cas has the three thin boxes, Dean has caught himself staring more than once. Cas’ form is just so damn easy on the eyes — the way his torso streches to reach the backseat, the muscles in his shoulders straining his shirt, and God forgive him, that ass. Dean finds himself thinking things he hasn’t thought in a long time, specifically about a man.

He wants to touch Cas. He wants to run his thumb over the scruff of his chin. He wants to kiss Cas, lick his way into his mouth. Dean wants the undeniable weight of a man on him; he wants Cas to press against him, pin him in, rendering him immobile. He wants all of that, but he can’t have it. Because he can’t just go off and assume Cas wants the same thing.

Someone is speaking, but Dean doesn’t hear what they’re saying. He’s too busy imagining life being a little different. Sam and Jess over at his and Cas’ place, bringing a casserole or some shit, celebrating national holidays the way they were meant to be: happy, content, and under no pressure from business legacy-crazed parents. Anna is enjoying life on her terms, living alone with some houseplants and perhaps a pet.

“Dean?” the voice shakes him out of his daze this time. It’s Cas. Staring directly at him as they stand by the truck.

“Huh?” Dean huffs, blinking away the last bits of his vision. He must look like a deer in headlights. Surely Cas noticed. That’s weird, right? Fantasizing doing boring couple things with the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on?

“I said, where are you going after you move out?”

“Oh, sorry. Um, I really haven’t thought that far ahead,” Dean confesses with a small laugh. “Wouldn’t even have the option if it wasn’t for that speech of yours at the table.”

“It was nothing,” Cas dismisses, looking at the ground. “My parents can be blind to the simplest things, if no one is there to open their eyes.”

“Is that what you do? Open people’s eyes?”

Cas looks back up to meet Dean’s evergreen gaze, mouth poised for speech, but says nothing. It’s piercing, like he’s looking straight through him, and Dean can’t help but look away for a moment to alleviate the intensity. There’s power behind just a simple glance between them. It’s electric and exhilarating.

It’s terrifying.

“I suppose now you’ll be able to date a different woman of your choosing?”

Castiel’s suggestion is so jarring, Dean actually furrows his brows at the thought. Why would Cas say something like that? Why would he press Dean to pursue someone else? Does he think Dean has eyes on another lady? Why would he assume that? Normal people don’t do that.

Unless of course, this isn’t about pushing Dean away.

He blinks. And then he looks down. And he looks back up at Cas.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

“I don’t have my eyes on a different woman.”

It’s Cas’ turn to react with surprise. He takes a small step back, then another thick gulp, before his eyes search Dean’s face, as if he isn’t quite believing what he’s hearing. As if he’s attempting to find another basis for the words, besides the honest-to-God truth.

Dean wants him. And if he’s reading the blatantly obvious writing on the wall correctly, Cas  _ just might _ feel the same way.

“What about you, Cas?” Dean prompts, taking a baby step into Cas’ space. “Still think you’re too late for that special someone?”

Cas holds up a hand placatingly, and it halts Dean in his tracks. “Dean, please don’t think that I purposed to split you and Anna up for… for…”

“For your benefit?”

“Correct.” His hand falls to his side again, and his shoulders fall, much like Naomi’s at dinner. He looks defeated and frazzled and… scared? “My sister’s happiness is my utmost concern.”

“Hey man, I get it,” Dean jumps in to assure him. “I would walk through hell for my brother. We oldest kids, we’re all made of the same stuff.” His mind is going in a thousand different directions, and just for a moment, he second guesses Castiel’s interest. But he has to do this. He has to reassure this guy in the only way he knows how. “No matter what happens to us, we gotta take care of our younger sibling, right?”

Cas’ eyes light up. “Yes, exactly. I’m glad you understand.”

“Great,” Dean breathes, motioning with open palms. “I think we might understand each other.”

At that, Cas takes a deep breath, and it puffs his chest up just enough to distract Dean for a split second. Every move the guy makes is a freaking work of art. He’s gorgeous, and it’s awakening parts of Dean that have been dormant for too damn long. It’s only when he shifts his footing that he realizes he’s half-hard in his pants.

_ Jesus, Mary and Joseph, do not let him look down… _

“We went to the same school, y’know,” Dean coughed, searching for the bridge between  _ all *gestures wildly* that  _ and  _ sooo, wanna fuck? _

A smile crawls across Cas’ cheek. “I remember.”

“I was in my senior year when I… Wait, really?”

“You were always with girls.”

“Oh, well,” Dean stammers, experimenting with half a dozen sentence openers before settling on one. “It was… I mean I never thought I was… I never really let myself… But I was wrong, obviously. Not  _ obviously,  _ but… Dammit, Cas, I just… I liked you, alright?”

The rest of Cas’ smile beams across his face, and Dean could swear a hint of red flushes his cheeks. It’s adorable. Goddammit, he’s in so fucking deep. He’s never used the word “adorable” in his life, and now it’s the only word he can think of to describe this man.

“I’m pleased to finally find out the feeling was mutual,” Cas finally responds.

“You were crushing on me?”

With a slight shrug, Cas takes a small step forward. They’re in each other’s personal space now, and it’s palpable. Normally, someone this close would make Dean uncomfortable, and he would be stepping away by now. Not with Cas. He wants to keep moving towards each other until their bodies are flush, nothing between them but desperate hands, friction, and rapidly receding clothes.

“I wouldn’t use past tense,” Cas corrects him, and it’s the final nail in the coffin of every doubt Dean ever had. Cas wants him.

Cas  _ still  _ wants him.

Dean swallows back the victory cry and says instead, quietly, “Neither would I.”

They’ve been making eye contact for awhile, but it’s only now that their eyes truly lock. Like they’ve latched onto each other, a precursor to the physical grasp to come. Gazes penetrating, teasing, their bodies foreplaying without laying a finger on each other.

Dean’s eyes fall to Cas’ lips, now close enough to feel each other’s heat, but he doesn’t bother hiding the fact. It’s too late for all that silly carefulness now. It’s out in the open. Cas knows, and Dean knows, and they’re both so wrapped up in the presence of each other that neither has realized just how dark it’s become… until a  _ boom  _ sounds in the distance, and crackling light blooms across their faces.

The fireworks have started.

“Don’t move,” Cas instructs, then breaks into a run out of the dirt parking lot and into the fairgrounds.

The order was so direct, Dean doesn’t do as much as breathe for the first ten seconds afterward. When his wanting lungs remind him to inhale, he realizes just what exactly is happening. Cas is dumping off the sparklers to the rest of the family, then coming back. To the truck. With him.

The black summer sky lightens with each explosion of color. It’s tame at first, one firework at a time, as the technicians take their time showing off their handiwork to the enthralled crowd below. Looking around, he notes that no one else within eyesight has opted to stay in their car for the show, and it makes him even more comfortable with what’s going to happen once Cas returns.

He comes back empty-handed, but quickly remedies that by taking Dean’s jaw in his hands and looking deep into his eyes. Their mouths are so, so close, but Cas hesitates, as if giving Dean one more chance to opt out. Heart pounding, Dean slides his hand around Cas’ waist and pulls him in. Their lips crush together, and in the sky, an explosion of fire illuminates the parking lot.

Someone could see, and Dean can’t think of a single reason to care. He hasn’t felt this way in… well, ever. No girl has ever kissed him like this. Not a single person on earth has called this deeply into his soul, tugging at his heartstrings and made him feel so alive, so wanted. His fingers prickle with every inch he drags across Cas’ back, every squeeze he gives to bring him closer.

And if there ever was an active participant, it was this man in his arms. Cas has full control of Dean’s mouth, tasting and sucking and making up for  _ so much lost time.  _ They’re a mess of teeth and tongue, making out like two horny teenagers, but who’s to stop them? Neither is concerned with how this looks; only how it feels to finally have the other, with not a single inhibition.

Dipping lower, Cas noses under Dean’s jaw as he licks his neck. The sudden wetness takes Dean by surprise and sends a bolt straight to his dick. In response, he moans and tilts his head for Cas to have his way. As he digs his fingers into Cas’ shirt, the hardness in their pants becomes apparent to both, and they share an undignified smirk.

Instead of commenting, Dean acts on his first impulse once he sees the inviting bob of Cas’ throat. He latches onto his adam’s apple, giving a light suck and even lighter bite. The reaction Cas gives is adjacent to pornography itself, the way his knees buckle and a filthy sound escapes his mouth.

He hears the truck door open. Cas breaks away just long enough to gauge Dean’s interest, which should have been fairly obvious by now, but he wholeheartedly respects the consideration Cas gives to each step of their… whatever this is.

Dean takes a breath and smiles. Cas’ hair is a wreck, and it’s so damn sexy, he’s not sure whether to put in a request for him to keep it like that every day, or if that would be detrimental to his own sanity. He doesn’t need to be on his lawnmower, tempted to fuck Cas senseless the next time he sees him with messy hair. Or maybe he does. He’s gone long enough without feeling that way about anyone, so what the hell.

They’re in the back seat. The doors are locked. They’re back on each other, pushing and pulling and grinding until clothes just seem to be in the way. Shirts, shoes, socks, pants, off. It happens too fast and not fast enough. Each inch of Castiel’s skin is teasing him, taunting him, reminding him that there’s still more to see. He wants it all. He wants it now.

Dean halts at Castiel’s boxer briefs, forcing himself to stop and smell the roses. Or in this case, stop and look at the fucking gorgeous body he’s been missing out on. Castiel’s chest is broad and strong — much more defined than his own — and he blushes when he realizes Cas probably doesn’t like what he sees nearly as much as Dean does. 

His stomach, his thighs, even his goddamn back are muscular and defined, in contrast to Dean’s softer features. He instinctively places his arm across himself, a meager attempt at covering himself. Cas’ brows wrinkle in confusion, then relax as he gently strokes Dean’s cheek.

“Dean, we don’t have to.”

Wait,  _ what?  _ Oh, hell no. No. No, no no no…

“That’s not what —” Dean begins, but a lump catches in his throat before he can finish.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just… Trust me, I wanna. I’ve been wanting to for like, twenty years. And I know I like what I see. I just don’t know if…” He trailed off, motioning vaguely at himself.

“If I like what I see?”

Dean looks up cautiously, but squints when Cas flips on the truck’s backseat light and climbs over him. The light is bright and sudden, revealing every inch of exposed skin, but he doesn’t dare move. Not when Cas is hovering over him, eyes raking across his body like a wild animal who’s found his next meal.

It’s feral, nothing like the innocent guy he crushed on in 12th grade, and it’s making him harder than he’s been in the better part of half a decade. His dick strains against his underwear, aching for contact and leaking against the scratchy fabric.

And in an instant, Cas’ tongue is on his chest, the tease. Dean arches his back, gasping, chasing the sensation. Angels are singing. Bells are chiming. It’s the best day ever, just he and his lover, lights on, clothes off. His body is on fire with desire. He could drop to one knee right now. He’s never been so ready, so turned on. 

“I do.”

“Huh?”

“I said I do like what I see,” Cas breathes on his skin between kisses. Once he decides he’s driven Dean mad enough, he pulls at his nipple with his teeth. It’s like lightning, and Dean yelps at the sparks flying, unsure whether it’s all in his head or supplemented by the fireworks outside. He can’t see outside very well with the lights on, not that he’s paying attention.

He can’t form a single coherent word as Cas gives equal attention to the other side. He wants to protest the light — someone might see, bla bla bla. But Cas has made his point pretty clear and Dean wouldn’t think to make a suggestion that would end in not being able to see the beautiful body above him.

Still, it’s the kinkiest thing he’s done in five years, which doesn’t do much to douse the adrenaline and oxytocin thrumming through his veins. He’s high on every point at which their bodies touch and the exquisite skill of Castiel’s tongue. 

Apparently, Cas is into the 4th of July aesthetic; even as he tongues Dean’s hardened nipple, he uses one hand to search the space above his head until he finds the light switch again. He flips it off and Dean mourns the loss, until a giant firework illuminates the sky and lines Cas’ body with streams of silver and gold light. As each pyrotechnic fizzles out, his lover’s features are shown off again within seconds by each new show of light. Even without them, there’s still enough light to make out body parts.

He makes a point to meet Dean’s eyes when his fingers crook into the fabric of his underwear. The combination of feeling his warm hands gently scraping skin, along with looking into those soulful eyes, is overwhelming. Every fiber of Dean’s being is screaming yes,  _ please oh god yes _ while Cas bends down near his aching length, pretty as a picture.

“Your turn,” Dean says as his underwear slips off his legs at Cas’ hands. He rolls his eyes but obliges, and inch by delicious inch his last bit of skin is exposed. Dean is shamelessly staring at Cas’ thick shaft with a slack jaw, mind racing with all the things he’d like to do and how little time they have tonight.

When Cas dips down to give attention to the skin just above the curve of his cock, Dean blows out a heavy gasp, more aroused than surprised. He’s never been this turned on; he never knew it could feel like this. It’s the best he’s had and they haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.

_ Scratch that,  _ he thinks. _ It’s all good stuff tonight. _

“I want to blow you,” Cas says between licks. 

“God,” Dean mutters under his breath. A five word sentence should never be that hot; shouldn’t be affecting his body like this. Every pulse of blood is honing in on his dick, warmer by the second and so incredibly funneled, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. He wants to come. He  _ needs  _ to come.

But not like this.

Not with his cock in Cas’ mouth. Not with his come rolling down this incredible man’s throat. No, he wanted to make this one count. If, for whatever reason, this story ended with their respective families being less than thrilled with their choice of mate, he wants to wreck Cas so hard he won’t be able to walk for a week. He wants Cas to remember him every time he tries to sit down, every time he sees a vaguely phallic-shaped object.

Dean sits up abruptly, then pushes back on Cas’ shoulders as he climbs up. Room is scarce in the backseat, but Cas gets the picture and reclines back as their positions are slowly reversed. Nose to nose, chest to chest, they settle into the cramped space as Dean makes his desires known.

It’s the first time he’s said them aloud about a man. And it feels so good.

“Maybe later,” Dean replies at last to Cas’ request. “I want you to never forget tonight.”

“I’m never going to anyway,” Cas says from below. He trails his fingers lightly over Dean’s chest and shoulders. It should tickle, but only ignites another spark that translates to  _ fuck him _ in his downstairs brain. Is that wrong? Is he a pervert for wanting his live-in’s brother this way?

“M-maybe I’m moving too fast.”

“No,” Cas blurts out. He grabs Dean’s shoulders before he can back away. “You aren’t, Dean. Please. Finally having this after twenty years is not ‘moving too fast.’ Tell me what you want.”

“I want to fuck you.”

The words leave Dean’s lips before he has time to stop himself. There. It has been said. It’s crude and too soon, but it’s out there, and Cas can do what he wants with that information.

What Cas does is pull Dean in for an open-mouthed kiss, so raw and carnal neither of them dare brush their cocks against each other, lest they come just like this. His fingers are in Dean’s hair, gently pulling, keeping him close. Dean steadies himself on top, supporting himself on his forearms and cradling Cas’ face.

Their kiss ends abruptly, with Cas’ knees moving apart and hands wandering down Dean’s abdomen. “Then do it,” he says matter-of-factly, like it’s the obvious answer.

“I don’t… I never really… Shouldn’t we use lube?”

“Don’t need it,” Cas responds, all the while wrapping his thick fingers around Dean’s length. When Dean’s only reply is a confused furrow of his brow, Cas laughs. “Relax, Dean. You’re not the first thing that’s been up my ass.”

Dean means to say something witty in response, but the way Cas is pumping him to full hardness makes it hard to concentrate. The way he’s handling him is so firm and calculated, so undeniably right. It’s never felt this right. What the hell has he been doing all this time?

Groaning at the way Cas twisted his wrist a little near the tip, Dean snaps out of his pleasure-drunken stupor just long enough to take himself in hand and guide it to his lover’s waiting hole. Sitting up enough to see what he’s doing, he peers through the darkness to focus between Cas’ legs. He looks so tight; what if he hurts Cas?

Dean unceremoniously spits in his hand and spreads it on his dick, especially the tip. Cas seems unfazed and keeps watching with those unnecessarily blue eyes, but unconsciously half-smiles as Dean prepares himself.

As he presses the wet, blunt head inside, Cas’ half smile turns into a full, toothy one of contentment and gratification. Dean watches his length slowly disappear into Cas’ ass, waiting for a sign to slow down or stop. With every inch he pulls out a little and sinks a bit deeper, feeling those solid but practiced muscles squeeze him.

“Y’alright, Cas?”

“You’re such a gentleman. I passed ‘alright’ about ten minutes ago,” he assures.

Dean can barely make out the smirk on Cas’s face, which he supposes he’s attempting to hide in the dark, but it’s definitely there. “What’s got you lookin’ all smug?”

Cas chuckles as the last bit of Dean’s cock fills him. “I told my friends I’d make you not straight. I said ‘Just give me some time, I’ll get him.’ They didn’t believe me.”

Dean feels a burst of laughter bubble up. Sounds exactly like something someone would say at their high school back in the day. It was true, too. Everyone was so sure Dean was only into women — including Dean. Now here he is with his cock up a man’s ass, and very much enjoying it.

“I guess this means this makes me bisexual at the least,” he says. 

Wow, he said it out loud to someone. He’s never done that before.

“At least six people owe me twenty dollars,” Cas thinks out loud as Dean begins a careful rhythm. He hums as Dean picks up speed, their position growing more and more comfortable as their bodies rock together. Cas is moving along with him, raising his hips the best he can in cadence with Dean’s thrusts.

It’s barely visible in the dark, but when another spark of red and blue light illuminates Cas’ face, Dean sees his forehead crinkle in thought. Dean slows his motions. “Am I hurting you?”

Cas can’t help but smile. Dean is so cautious and gentle. He was going to make quite the man for a lucky lady, but now here they are, and Dean is  _ his.  _ And Cas is the lucky man who got him. It’s a real life fairy tale.

“No Dean, you feel amazing,” he replies. “Angle up just a little.”

The little bit of direction is like a drug. It gives Dean a bolt of confidence; his sense of adventure is awakened and he gathers Cas’ legs, hoisting his ankles into the air and driving into him with a dip and lift, dip and lift. He’s even deeper than before, and it feels damn incredible: Cas’ tight ass around his cock, enveloping him, his inviting muscles pulling him in further. 

The feeling is so foreign, but so satisfying. It’s different than being inside a woman, but now, at this specific moment, he’s not entirely sure he would have it any other way. It’s so incredibly tight that it’s impossible not to feel pre-orgasm tingles so early into the act. It makes Dean question everything he knows about how long he can last at this age, and imagining his come deep inside of Cas does nothing to reign in the hot arousal building in his loins.

“Oh god,” Cas hisses. He arches his back as his eyes roll back. For a moment he reaches around him for something to hold onto, but finding nothing but car seats, he latches onto Dean’s shoulders. “That’s it… That’s  _ it… God…” _

Ah, Dean has heard of this. He feels it too, on every pass he makes through Castiel’s reddening hole — a small spongy patch his cockhead passes over. Dean knows about how good it’s supposed to feel, although he can’t say from personal experience. He’s ecstatic to bring such pleasure to his lover, and thinks  _ maybe one day _ Cas will give it to him up the ass, too.

“Fuck Cas, you’re so tight,” Dean says through gritted teeth. He’s fucking Cas hard, his own cock dictating the pace even as he holds Cas’ ankles high enough to get the angle  _ just perfect,  _ and if Cas’s body language is any indicator, what Dean is doing is working for both of them. His cock moves in and out smoothly, his tip catching at the rim before plowing back in.

As their connected bodies move together so seamlessly, fireworks light up the sky and punctuate their hard breaths with pops, crackles, and whizzes. The explosions dance in circles, then sprinkle downward, spilling showers of light upon both of them. All colors — red, pink, green, blue, white — border every line and curve, reflect in their glassy eyes.

“Dean, yes!” Cas cries out. He lets go of his lover’s shoulders to grab a hold of his own neglected length. He lets his eyes flutter shut, surroundings too stimulating, too overwhelming to possibly focus on. It’s too much. Dean is too perfect; he listens, he cares for one’s pleasure besides his own, he’s drop-dead gorgeous, and literal sparks fly as they give themselves to each other.

“Open those beautiful blues.” Dean’s voice is darker, more commanding, and Cas does not hesitate to obey. He looks up to see Dean grinning smugly as reaches for Cas’ hands. “I haven’t waited my whole life for this moment just to miss out on looking into your eyes when you come on my cock.”

Cas stutters something — he’s not sure what because his stomach is twisting in a knot with how hot it is for Dean to be over top of him, in control, telling him exactly what he wants. Before he can compose himself to give a real answer, Dean lifts Cas' wrists and pins them above his head, other fist still full of his ankles. His thrusts increase in intensity, each of Dean’s grunts more determined than the last.

He’s fully at Dean’s mercy now. He has nothing to ground him, nothing to keep him steady as Dean plows into him. He was doing so well canting his hips in time with Dean, but now his arms and legs are being held up uselessly. All he can do is take it. Time after time, Dean’s cock brushes his prostate, then keeps impaling him, so deep he’s unsure he’s ever been fucked quite like this.

“Dean,” is the only thing Cas can coherently say. It’s the only word his barely-functioning brain can think of, the only word running through his mind, like a repeating loop. He says it over and over, each time more acute than the last as his arousal reaches a fever pitch. Dean has fucked him so hard, he’s moved up against the car wall. Their bodies are far from their original position but no less on fire with want.

At last, Dean drops Castiel’s ankles and wrists. He uses one arm to pull Cas back down to a fully reclined position, while his other hand jerks Cas’ red, full cock. The sudden, welcomed contact elicits a gasp and Cas throws his head back, but is careful to keep his eyes open and on Dean. He’s so close, and he wants to give Dean his wish. He wants them to look into each other’s eyes as they come.

Cas’ best effort is not lost on Dean. He smiles sweetly as his hand presses up on the small of Cas’s back, keeping him close and tilted just right for Dean to keep hitting that sweet spot. He feels Castiel’s ankles around his own back, pulling him closer, and their posture is so intimate he feels his cheeks begin to blush. Their faces are so close they can feel each other’s inelegant breaths and see the beads of sweat collecting on their foreheads.

Dean comes first. It’s been building steadily this whole time, but somehow still takes him by surprise. With a short grunt he spills his seed into Castiel, giving two or three whole-hearted thrusts before his knees begin giving out on him. He pumps as much of his spend as he can into that gorgeous ass, now his, wanting nothing more than to keep driving himself in, because he  _ never wants to stop fucking this man.  _ He doesn’t want it to end.

Cas follows closely behind with a broken shout. Spurt after spurt he comes all over his lower belly and Dean’s fingers. He wants to look down. He wants to see his come all over Dean’s hand, like a marking. Like he’s finally staked his claim on the man he’s wanted for so long.

But he doesn’t. He stares long and deep into Dean’s green eyes as he comes, and Dean stares right back. Their eyes look past each other and into their souls as they meet their bliss together, and it’s like the old magic of druids and witches that connects them to the universe. For a euphoric moment, they are spiritually one; all their physical labor and yearning has led them here, to where nothing is between them. Not the oxygen in the air, not skin and bones, nor the complications of their respective families.

He only remembers where he is and what’s going on when Dean blinks, then leans down to kiss him. It’s a sweet, grateful kiss — so unlike their last one. 

“You’re incredible,” Dean whispers.

“So are you,” Cas says back.

Dean slowly slips out, his dick slick with his own come and very, very tired. He watches in enrapturement as Cas’s hole gapes open in its absence, dripping white milky spend. Crawling back up, Dean rests his head on Cas’s chest and wraps an arm around him. Together they watch the very end of the grand finale, a messy explosion of multiple fireworks at once with no rhyme or reason. They missed most of it in the throes of passion, but neither can find the capacity to care. Tonight, something far better happened.

“So,” Dean says as he taps his fingers on Cas’s chest. The show of lights is coming to a close. The fairgrounds are finally running out of explosives to throw into the sky. They probably try to change it up year after year, but from a viewer's standpoint, the grand finale looks the same every time. Twenty go up at once, then more, without a single moment of silence. The entire sky is lit up for minutes on end. It’s loud and it’s bright, with so many colors at once it’s hard to differentiate, until finally it dies down, but only as a ruse. It starts up again, going on for another few minutes, until they run out of fireworks for real this time.

“So,” Cas says back.

Both of them know exactly where this conversation is going. “What are we going to do?”

Cas touches his chin to the top of Dean’s head and runs his fingers through his hair. “Let me handle it.”

The tender motions calm Dean. “Okay.”

“I can’t let this be ‘it’ for us. I won’t let it. I’ve waited too long for you.”

Dean swallows back the urge to say  _ fuck it, let’s run away together _ and holds Cas a little tighter. “Yeah?”

“Like I said,” Cas recalls, “I was a wreck last night.”

Eyes narrowing at the memory, Dean adjusts his head on Castiel’s strong, firm chest. “I said that.”

Cas’s spare hand lifts Dean’s chin until they’re looking into each other’s eyes again. “So did I.”

* * *

**Epilogue**

  
  


“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean says with a squeeze around his boyfriend’s waist. He reaches into the cupboard with his spare hand, getting out a coffee mug and leaving a kiss on Castiel’s cheek.

“Hello Dean,” comes the reply as Cas flips a chocolate chip pancake over the kitchen stove. “Have you had a chance to take the turkey out of the freezer?”

“Crap,” he says under his breath before setting down the mug and hurrying over to the freezer.

“Fill the sink with water. It should take about six hours to thaw that way.”

“This is a huge ass bird, Cas. You sure we shouldn’t just order a bucket of extra crispy?”

Cas chuckles softly. “Are you nervous about our families having Thanksgiving at our place?”

“Shouldn’t I be?” he asks with a hint of defensiveness. He plugs the sink and sets the twelve pound turkey down before turning on the tap.

“Your parents took the news of us very well. And mine took it mostly well. I told you I would handle it.”

Dean smiled at the recollection. Naomi and Chuck thought nothing of it when Cas explained that he and Dean “left together to watch fireworks at the truck” all those months ago. To say they were shocked to hear their boy and the Winchester’s oldest son were an item, however, would be an understatement. According to Cas, they were very quiet for the next few days, and only came around once he and Anna both sat them down and explained their individual wishes.

They’re a good match, Cas had assured them. And there are plenty more ways to be a family than man, woman, child. As for the future of the family business, well, it’s a little soon to be planning that far ahead, but Dean plans on bringing up adoption to Cas very soon. Cas is going to make an amazing father.

The hypnotic sound of water running almost fully disguises the sweep of the front door opening, followed by the soft  _ click  _ of it shutting. Dean turns the water off abruptly, startled by the noise, but instantly relaxes when he sees Anna stroll into the kitchen.

“Hi guys,” she greets them with a genuine smile.

Gosh, it’s so nice to see her smile for real. “Anna,” Dean says, turning the water back on, a little gentler this time so he can hear her clearly. “Boy are we glad to see you.”

She laughs. “I hope that pancake is for me.”

“The least we can do in exchange for your expertise on cooking turkey,” Cas pipes up as he uses a spatula to slide the pancake onto a plate.

“I hope you know I’m having someone catsit for you guys’s sake.”

“The one you found at the fairgrounds?” Dean asks.

“Mm hmm,” she hums with a nod. “I named him Firecracker.”

“How fitting, for a cat found fearlessly wandering the throngs of fireworks observers, looking for pets and scraps.” Cas sets the plate onto the kitchen table, along with syrup and a fork. “I was sure he was rabid when you told me that’s how you found him.”

“Nope. Even took him to the vet to get him checked out. He was as healthy as a stray could be.”

“Well, he’s doing even better now,” Dean pointed out. “Now that you’re taking care of him.”

“Shots, fixed, and on a healthy diet. He’s spoiled rotten. We’re living the dream!”

Dean nods, his heart filled with happiness for Anna and the life she’s finally enjoying. It wouldn’t be happening without his knight in shining armor over there, pouring more pancake mix into the pan with tooth-rotting domesticity. Things like this don’t happen, and yet here they were. Life didn’t go this perfectly, and yet it was — it took a year of living with a bad decision with good intentions, but the important thing was,  _ he had Cas now.  _ For keeps.

They had so much more time to make up for. Their days were filled with longing for each other, and they couldn’t tell if their constant texting “I miss you” and “I love you” was making it better or worse. Their evenings were filled with two decades worth of catching up on anything and everything that had happened since graduation: funny stories, deep philosophical thoughts, and bad times they had to endure without each other. Their nights were spent making passionate love, appreciating one another, each being consumed with the other. 

Five months had passed and they’re showing no signs of stopping. Some people say the spark dies over time. Those people are wrong. The spark dies if lovers let it. Like a show of fireworks, keep on igniting it. Keep ‘em rolling. 

“I’m gonna sweep the porch,” Dean announces once the sink is full. “I’ll be back for that pancake.”

  
  
“Careful, Anna might eat it,” Cas teases as Dean leaves.

Anna is finishing up her plate, and once Dean pulls the broom out of the coat closet and closes the front door, she takes her dirty dishes to the dishwasher and leans against the cabinets.

“So?” she asks expectantly. “When are you going to ask him?”

Cas raises a brow as he stares intently at the pancake bubbling around the sides. “Ask who what?”

Anna rolls her eyes. “C’mon, Cas. You know who and what.”

Turning slowly towards his sister, Castiel narrows his eyes. “It’s a little soon for that, don’t you think?”

Anna’s brows go up, followed by her head tilting to the side with a piercing glare that looks directly through her brother. It’s an old look, one they’ve been using on each other for ages, and once again, it works.

Castiel sighs. “I’m getting the ring sized now.”

“And…?”

“And,” he concedes, “I’m going to ask him on Christmas, if I can wait that long.”

Clapping excitedly, Anna lets out a high-pitched squeal, just soft enough to stop before the front door. She finishes her outburst with a sudden hug, which knocks the wind out of her unsuspecting brother.

“I’m so excited for you guys.”

“What if he says no?”

Anna scoffs. “He’s not gonna say no.”

Cas flips the pancake. “How do you know?”

“Because,” Anna begins before digging into the bag of chocolate chips. “I had a feeling you two were going to hit it off, so I might have… maybe… been the one to get the ball rolling.”

As his sister popped four chips into her mouth, he stalled over the stove. “What?”

“I’m the one who invited you to spend the night, silly goose,” she giggled. “And I’m the one who got everybody inside the house so you and Dean could um… you know… be alone.”

Castiel pokes the pancake distractedly for a good four seconds before turning back to Anna with wide eyes. “You did that on purpose?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t torture myself by locking myself in the house with mom and dad just to make myself miserable.”

Thinking very hard about how many thanks he owes Anna for sacrificing her own sanity for the sake of getting him and Dean together, Cas looks down at the pancake, then at the spatula, back at the pancake, and back at Anna again.

“You’re welcome,” she offers.

With the sound of Dean entering the front door, Cas looks back at the pancake with a far-off stare. Through all of this, Anna has gotten what she wants as well. She still lives in the house she and Dean shared, but now has a cat, and no men to complicate things. Just as she likes it. He’s happy, shocked, and completely confounded that he didn’t see her matchmaking scheme all along.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dean asks as he walks in, sensing the difference in energy than when he left.

Cas and Anna share a glance, then look at Dean. Anna’s smirk is mischievous but mysterious, while Cas looks like he’s seen a ghost. Dean’s eyes bounce between them, trying to decipher their expressions. Deep inside he knows it’s no use; he and Sammy can communicate without a single word, but it’s fun to try anyway.

“Y’all talking ‘bout me, huh?”

When their faces shift minutely under the suggestion, Dean panics. Immediately his mind runs into the gutter, where he can imagine them scrutinizing his bedroom performance and all the weird sounds he makes when he’s really into it. It’s weird as fuck imagining them carrying on that kind of conversation, but right now he’s self-conscious and it’s the only thing he can fathom.

“Ah, great. You guys are comparing notes, aren’t you?”

The laughter that followed let Dean know that they weren’t answering that... at least not yet. He might tickle it out of Cas later. Right now, he’s got enough on his plate as it is: finish assembling various Thanksgiving dishes, impress the sort-of in-laws, and wait for his parents to inevitably call from his mom’s cell phone because  _ the GPS took us the wrong way… again. _

He rolls his eyes, just to be dramatic, and crosses his arms as he leans against the kitchen counter. Cas has got that look on his face: he’s going to tell him part of it, eventually. But there’s another part he can’t quite place — a calm covering up a whirlwind of emotion, and Dean can’t decipher what exactly those emotions are or how to find out.

Catching Dean’s pertness out of the corner of his eye, Cas scoops up the pancake with his spatula and lays it onto a plate. He hands that and a fork to his  _ hopefully  _ soon-to-be fiance.

“Sit down and eat your pancake.”


End file.
